Therapy
by sshk0409
Summary: Chloe has to be cleared by a therapist after being poisoned. Thank you for reading.


Even under the best circumstances, Detective Chloe Decker was not a sit-still kind of person. And she was not, under any circumstances, a want-to-talk-to-a-therapist kind of person. But after being poisoned by a murder suspect and coming within hours of dying from that poison, the chief of police had issued a directive, "Do not show up for work until you get cleared for duty by the department therapist." This was standard protocol; the detective spent many an hour with the shrink after shooting a suspect or being shot. But this time… This time was different. This time she was afraid the no nonsense mask she put on during therapy sessions would fall off. It had been easy to fool the shrink into thinking she was fine after being shot. A few, "I was so worried about how Trixie and my mom were going to be if I died' type of comments sprinkled in with 'I just hoped that I served my city well and did my best' and the papers were signed.

But this time while Chloe lay in the hospital bed and her body burned from the inside out, she was glad Trixie had been taken away and that her mom was out of town. She didn't want them to see her writhing in agony. And she was glad Dan had been off doing, well, whatever he had been off doing. She really could not have born the pain on top of him blubbering over her impending demise and reassuring her that he would be a good father, maybe quit the force and go work in some non-lethal profession.

No, when the burning was intense and she knew, deep down _knew_ , she was going to die, Chloe had wanted a different man in her hospital room. One to hold her hand while he distracted them both by talking about his favorite subject: himself. Or when she was convulsing, to crawl into the bed with her and hold her until the spasms died down. One whose soft brown eyes would smile into hers and whose whiskey-scented mouth would reassure her that the lab techs were working on an antidote, and they _would_ cure her. Because, other than the massive black hole of a lie about who he really was, Lucifer never lied. Ok, every once in a while, he teased and told a teeny fib, but he'd correct it within seconds. And he was not unopposed to omitting certain facts or talking around subjects that he didn't want to discuss. And he was spectacularly good about making promises that sounded exactly like what you wanted to hear, but didn't actually promise what you were expecting. But outright lying? No. So if he had been there, if he had promised, she would have believed him. However, "You look heaven sent" was a far cry from "I won't let you die."

But as her not-quite inappropriate thoughts on Lucifer were not exactly information Chloe wanted written down anywhere in the department, she had done some pretty fast talking to get the chief to agree to having her "personal" therapist sit with her instead of the department's therapist. Unfortunately for the detective, Dr. Linda Martin took her responsibilities seriously and refused to sign the papers until they had actually sat down and talked.

So here she sat in Linda's waiting room waiting for the red light to go out indicating the current session was over. If Lucifer were here, he would no doubt be pacing and making sexual innuendos about the doctor working in a red light district. Or questioning if it was the doctor who was in the patient or the patient who was in the doctor. Chloe groaned. The infuriating man wasn't even here; why was her brain stepping in for him?

And why was she so fixated on him, anyway? Yes, he was good looking, in a non man-bun wearing metrosexual way, but this was LA and good looking men of all flavors and stripes were a dime a dozen. He probably used more hair product in a week taming his tight, untidy curls into sleek waves than she used in a year. And what was up with him wearing eyeliner? He should look ridiculous, but somehow… he didn't.

Those eyes… deep, rich chocolate pools, invitations to decadence, indulgence, passion. 'Show me how much you love me, and I'll rock your world', they promised. Eyes were supposed to be the window to the soul, but far too often his only mirrored his playboy/devil-may-care attitude. But every once in a while the mirror cracked….

The most common occurrence was when it was just the two of them talking quietly together. Location was irrelevant, as was the topic of conversation; it happened in the bar just as often as at a crime scene or in one of their homes. They'd be talking, in their own little bubble, and his gaze would wander, eventually landing on her lips. And for a heartbeat, his eyes would stay focused there, then jerk to meet hers. And for the teeniest fraction of a second, she would see something raw and primitive. Desire. _I want you._ A look so fleeting that had it not been for feeling butterfly wings flitting up and down her spine, she would not have believed she actually saw it. A look that could wake her from a sound sleep almost in a panic, knowing the only thing holding that desire in check was his respect for her 'no'.

The weirdest his eyes had looked had been from odd light patterns and reflections that made his eyes seem to be on fire. And then there was that really weird moment when she was shot, and the cracked glass made it seem like his entire face was red and burned. She had never heard of anyone having hallucinations after being shot, but maybe she had hit her head falling?

Less often, but for far longer periods of time, pain smashed the mirror into pieces. Not physical pain: she had seen the results of far too many fist fights with Amenadiel that he brushed off as insignificant. Even being shot in the leg had not brought that look into his eyes. But emotional pain… Like when Father Frank died. Or when he appeared drunk and disheveled at the zombie wedding. Or when she touched the scars on his back. He may have left a bruise when he grabbed her wrist, but she had only felt the soul crushing anguish emanating from him. It was almost as if his skin and bones were too tightly wrapped around his emotions and he feared he would shatter if he ever let that pain loose. She had lain in bed, awake for hours after his attempt at suicide by sniper, wondering just what had hurt him so badly that he felt he deserved death as a punishment. And wondering when he would trust her enough to tell her what happened. What she could do to help him trust her. Wondered how much torment his psyche could take before it exploded. And whether that explosion would be internal or external.

Speaking of the scars, she had to disregard the fairy tale story about Maze cutting his wings off as pure nonsense, but that something had hurt him, and badly, was undeniable. The scars were too symmetrical, both in silhouette and scar tissue pattern, for them to have been made by a knife; it was far more likely that he had been branded…. And given his daddy issues, the detective had one suspect in mind. On top of the scars was his almost complete rejection of non-sexual physical contact; the only other time she had seen people open to any and all sexual requests but unable to accept a handshake, a hug, or even a touch on the arm was during her stint spent working with teenaged prostitutes, all of whom had been abused physically and emotionally, and most of the time sexually, as children. And if Lucifer _had_ been abused as a child? When you took the religion out of his stories, and assumed the rest was the truth, abuse was highly likely. An overbearing father who demanded perfection but withheld affection and approval. And who ultimately kicked his son out of the house for standing up for himself. A mother who passively stood by and watched it happen. The rejected son reinventing himself to be a king of the night club scene, rich, connected, desired, and able to make deals that gave his adversaries the thing they desire the most. As such, the choice of Lucifer as his alter-ego made sense: the original rebellious child who, after being kicked out of Heaven, rose to reign supreme over Hell.

She pulled out her phone and checked for notifications. Nothing. Same as the last hundred times she looked at the phone. A quick swipe opened the messaging app; the screen filled with outgoing texts to Lucifer. I need to talk to you. Where are you? Are you OK? All unanswered. Another swipe opened her email app; it was full of spam but no messages from him. A third swipe opened the phone call log showing only outgoing calls to his cell and penthouse as well as to Lux, a few to the precinct in case he had shown up for work, two to Dan, one to her mom (another just in case), and two to Maze; no one had heard from him in days.

Maze had been abrupt on the first phone call. "I don't know where he is; I'm not his keeper anymore." The second was a bit lengthier. "Look. Lucifer literally went to Hell and came back for you." Maze's acerbic tone was measured, barely containing her rage. "He vowed he would never willingly set foot in that place ever again, and yet, he didn't hesitate for one second when he knew that was the only way to save you." Chloe easily pictured Maze: face distorted with anger and practically foaming at the mouth. "He broke his vow. For you. I don't know of anyone else in Heaven or on Earth that he would do that for. I think he deserves a few days away, don't you?"

The red light flicked off, and a pre-teen skipped out of the office holding a hamster in a ball. "Dr. Martin is fab-u-lous!" she squealed. "She fixed my hamster's sleeping issues! Did you know hamsters are supposed to be awake at night?"

Linda rolled her eyes as she waved Chloe into the room, making sure to keep her legal pad's front page faced away from her patient. The doctor had written copious notes during the pre-teen's hour, not on the hamster's non-existent insomnia (didn't her parents have better things to spend $500 on than having a psychiatrist explain the adjective 'nocturnal'?), but with topics to avoid during Chloe's session. Mainly, anything related to Lucifer being the actual Devil, his family's genuine divinity, anything he said during his own sessions, Uriel, Lucifer killing Uriel, Amenadiel's interference in Chloe's conception (now there was a story to ponder: would that make Chloe the second coming of Mary? Or Jesus?), and, perhaps most importantly, Lucifer's unacknowledged love for the detective and his overwhelming fear that she was the bait in his Father's trap.

Once in the room, Chloe glared at the couch, remembering the first time she had sat there, when she first met Linda. The doctor had reacted the same way multitudes of women, and men, reacted around Lucifer: insane with lust. Chloe didn't understand it; she herself had only felt disgusted and annoyed the first time she met him. It had taken being shot and saved by Lucifer to help her to tolerate being in the same room with him. And weeks passed before she felt anything resembling liking. And even now, the occasional lustful thoughts were more…. Well, less about _just_ wild sex and more about… well… something more than _just_ wild sex. And speaking of sex, had Lucifer and the doctor had sex on this couch? Ew. Gross. But she did seem to remember that couch being a lighter color, with stripes. Chloe gingerly sat down, stomach turning over at thought of Lucifer with the doctor. Dr. Martin began. "So… your brush with death. Tell me about it."

"You mean, what was I feeling?"

"Sure."

Chloe took a deep breath and presented her standard therapy spiel. "Scared. More so for Trixie than myself. I know what it's like to lose a parent, but at least I was grown. She's still so little…." Another deep breath and a sigh. "Regret. A few times I wondered if Dan and I should have stayed married, done more to make the marriage work. For Trixie's sake. I was worried that Dan would make Charlotte Richards," she almost spat the name out, "Trixie's step-mom." The rote answers might have appeased the department shrink. She mentally crossed her fingers that this would be enough.

Linda shifted her position in the chair so that she was directly facing Chloe. Chloe recognized that look; Linda was actually going to make her work for the clearance. "It's completely understandable that a lot of your thoughts would have been for your daughter. But what about you. What was going through your mind that was just about _you_?"

Chloe mentally shrugged, and decided to be honest. Ish. "I was thinking my kisses were man-repellents. You know, like Raid? But for men. Dan and I…. We were separated for months, talking about getting back together, and then we kissed…. And he broke up with me. By text. I kissed Lucifer, and I think I got shoved into the friendship zone." Linda did a small fist pump and silently mouthed _you go girl!_ But Chloe wasn't paying attention. "I mean," she continued, "He's been trying to seduce me since the very first day we met. I half expected him to go all caveman on me and drag me back to the penthouse, but… Nothing. And a few days later, I thought he was dead or at least seriously injured, but he was fine. And I hugged him. I was so glad he was OK, and he.… You know when you were a kid and your parents made you hug your old relative who smelled like mothballs? So you just barely put your arms around them?" Linda nodded. "Yeah, well, that's how he hugged me. Like I was smelly old moth ball person." She reminded herself to keep her tone light, but not too happy. Chloe chuckled as realistically as she could, shaking her head. "So there I was lying in my hospital bed, dying, and thinking that my last two kisses scared the guys away. Dan and Lucifer both gone. I was dying and neither of them were there to hold my hand. Not until after I got the antidote. Then Lucifer said the strangest thing. He said something like I didn't die and that made one of us. What does that even mean?" Chloe was too self absorbed to notice that the doctor was biting the inside of her lip trying to maintain a poker face. Linda, of course, knew exactly what had been happening while Chloe battled the poison. But doctor-devil confidentiality kept her from revealing anything. She mentally sent a curse and a prayer in Lucifer's direction in the hope that one of them would catch his attention. The Devil needed to come clean to Chloe and show her both his true face and his true feelings.

"After, they told me they were out looking for how to make the antidote. But I didn't know that then. I just knew that the day before, we were standing outside the science lab, and I was hugging him, and he ran his fingers down the side of my face." Unconsciously, the detective's fingers traced the path Lucifer's had taken. Also unconsciously, the 'light tone' had morphed into actual self-reflection. "And he said, 'This is real, right?' That, along with what he said on the beach, I thought that meant he might… That we were… But then a few hours later, I'm in my bathroom and my nose just won't stop bleeding, and he comes storming into my apartment. 'Did you know?'" Chloe did her best to imitate his accent. "'This whole bloody time, did you know?' I have no idea what I was supposed to know, but I haven't seen him since right after I got the antidote. He's not answering my calls, not responding to my texts… He did this to me the first time I tried to kiss him, too. Friend zoned. Maybe he's just the dog that finally caught up to the mail truck and doesn't remember why he was chasing it in the first place."

The doctor looked down at the pad to cover a smile. She could totally picture a Lucifer-dog chasing after Chloe driving a mail truck. "I'd like to discuss the Raid concept. How long have you and Dan been separated?"

"About a year and a half."

"How many times have you two been intimate during this separation?" As Chloe opened her mouth to answer, Linda quickly interjected, "And by intimate, I don't mean just sex. I mean date nights, dinners for two, cuddling on the couch watching TV, sleeping in the same bed, etc."

"Just that one kiss."

"And the reasons for your separation, has there been significant progress?"

"Significant? Ummm. No. But it's better. He's trying."

"Why did you split up? What was the moment that you knew your marriage was done?"

"Umm. I was working a homicide, a man stabbed his daughter something like 20 times because she had a boyfriend. Her first boyfriend at 25. He was the youth pastor at their church, and they hadn't even held hands yet. It was a pretty open and shut case; the father admitted to it after only a few minutes of questioning. And then after that, we had this witness in protective custody; I was assigned the six to midnight shift. Dan had the day off, and Trixie had this party at school the next day; she was supposed to bring in cupcakes. So I asked Dan if he could pick up a dozen at the grocery store. Well, a bunch of guys from the precinct were going out for drinks that night, and he decided he was going, too. So he called me to say I needed to get a babysitter." Linda noted her patient's demeanor: tensed jaw, arms crossed at the waist, body rocking slightly. Body language indicative of anger and self-soothing at the same time. Apparently, Chloe was still upset over this, and at the same time felt she shouldn't be angry. "There I am standing in a blood spattered room, he's got the day off, and he expected me to call the babysitter!"

"And did you?"

"No. I hung up on him. I got home after my stint watching over the witness, and no cupcakes. He said…. He said 'the cupcakes were your thing, like hanging out with the guys was mine.' I guess that was that, because a couple of days later, I packed up Trixie's and my stuff and moved into my mom's place."

"In any relationship, there are physical and administrative duties." At Chloe's blank look, Linda explained. "The physical is easy to see. The dirty dishes on the counter. The dust on the mantle. Full laundry baskets. And then there are the administrative. Making doctor and dentist appointments. Parent-teacher conferences. Signing up for sports and other activities. Finding a babysitter or preschool." Chloe nodded. "If that was the final blow to your marriage, it sounds like Dan was unwilling to step into or assist you in the role as administrator. When both partners work, having one seen as solely responsible for either the physical or administrative, can be overwhelming.

"So I'll repeat my earlier question, but this time focus on administrative duties; has there been significant progress?" The detective slowly shook her head. "And is it possible that Dan recognized that? Your marriage wasn't working, not enough has changed, so why not move forward instead of backward?"

Chloe nodded. "I suppose so," she agreed reluctantly.

"Do you really want to resume a relationship that you were unhappy in? If Dan asked you today to move back in would you go?"

The response was more sigh than word. Acceptance and understanding. Their marriage had been over for a long time.

Dr. Martin crossed her legs. "Go back to the kiss with Lucifer. What happened." This line of questioning just _might_ be more for personal titillation than professional curiosity; luckily, the detective would never find out.

"We had just finished another case. I, ah, found him on the beach and reminded him we should wrap up the paperwork. I corrected myself before he could make one his double entendre comebacks. You know how he is. But he didn't. Instead…. Do you remember Medicine Man? The part where Sean Connery has drawn a picture of Lorraine Braco. He tells her that boyfriend probably doesn't notice that one ear is lower than the other." Linda nodded. "Or Colin tells Renee that he likes her and she says without the vulgar mother and the verbal diarrhea and he says, 'no, I like you. Just as you are.'? Well, it was sort of like that. The hero tells the heroine all the little things he notices, the music swells, the audience just knows that he's telling her he loves her." The detective sighed softly. "There was no music, but with the sun over the water and the waves crashing and the ocean air and gulls crying, I just got… caught up in the moment. And I… I kissed him."

"And how was the kiss?"

"It was…. Nice." Linda tried and failed to suppress a gasp of disbelief. Having been a recipient of Lucifer's kisses, multiple times, nice was not an appropriate adjective. Amazing barely started describing them. Physical ecstasy came close. She firmly quashed the urge to fan herself with her notepad. Was the office getting hot? Maybe she should turn the air conditioning up just a bit…. Chloe narrowed her eyes at the doctor, but decided to not comment on the flushed skin. She continued. "I mean, it was like we were in high school or something and had just figured out how to kiss without bumping noses." She jumped up and started pacing back and forth in front of the couch. "It's not like I _want_ him to kiss me. So there's no reason for me to be upset that he's not kissing me like he does those women at Lux, right?"

The doctor settled back a bit in her chair. "You don't want him to kiss you?"

"No! Maybe. No." The detective paused, her face showing her confusion. "We're totally different people. I don't know." She shook her head slowly and stopped moving.

"I'd like to do a little thought experiment for a moment. Let's say that you do want to kiss him, that maybe you want to have a romantic relationship with him. Or even just have sex. You do know he's had hundreds, maybe thousands of lovers."

"I know," Chloe interjected. "I've met 92 of them." She looked at the doctor, "93." She looked away, thinking of Maze, "94." With a sick lurch of her stomach she remembered the airplane attendants,"96."

"Right, well, um." She really should turn the AC up a few notches… Or did she mean down? "Imagine you're lying in bed with him after a marvelous night together. What prospect bothers you more: knowing that number 98 is waiting outside the door? Or that there might be no 98?"

Chloe sank back down onto the couch, unable to answer, honestly or otherwise. The thought of being just another notch on Lucifer's bed post made her feel nauseated. And a monogamous Lucifer was almost unimaginable. After all, real life was not like romance novels where the rake seduced women left and right until he met his debutante and all of a sudden, no other woman could interest him. No, in real life the rake would marry his debutante and continue to have his other women as well; she wouldn't tolerate that behavior at all. Lucifer was very vocal about his desire to live a life full of pleasure. Could he ever be satisfied with the simple joys of her life? Reading to a sleepy child? Cuddling up together on the couch to watch a movie? Game night where everyone kept their clothes on? Even something as ordinary as sleeping together without making love first? She had the feeling that he might enjoy the novelty for a month or two. Maybe as long as a year. Maybe. Probably not. But the whole time, the nightclub scene would be screaming his name: the parties, the mindless sex, the drugs. How long before he answered that siren's call?

"Now imagine," the doctor continued. "Imagine you're a man who's never had a serious relationship in his life. You meet a woman and slowly start to realize that you care, deeply, for her." At Chloe's startled look, Linda reassured her. "No, I'm not breaking any patient confidentiality here. I've seen you two in public, and it's plain as day that he cares a great deal for you. It's also quite clear that his other relationships are and have been extremely temporary. So here's the imaginary man's conundrum. He knows you're not a one night stand kind of gal; that's just not who you are. So…. Is he willing to risk ruining what you have together for a hop in the sack?"

"So…. What you're saying is that I'm right. We are too different."

"No, Chloe. What I'm saying is that the two of you need to be having this discussion. You need to tell him what you're feeling and get him to tell you his. Talk about your hopes and fears. What you want. What you need.

"The two of you need to answer honestly to each other the infamous question of He Who Shall Not Be Named: 'What is it that you desire?'"

"Well, right now, I _desire_ that you sign the department's papers saying I can go back to work."

Linda blew a hank of hair away from her face, the only expression of her frustration with Chloe's flippant answer. Time to change tactics. "Let's go back to your conversation on the beach. You brought up the word love. Specifically, you mentioned that would be the part of the movie that the audience knows he's saying he loves her." Chloe nodded, slowly, not particularly liking the direction this new conversation was going. "Do you love him?"

"I like him. I really like him. A lot. When we're together, I don't have to try to be anything but me. This is the first relationship, of any kind, where I feel like I don't have to be 'on' all the time." She paused, thinking of a very similar conversation she had with Lucifer. "I trust him. I think I trust him a bit too much. I know he's got my back, and he'll be there when I really need him…." Again, she paused. This time remembering quite a few times when her definition of 'need' and his vastly differed.

"But…" Linda prompted.

"But he doesn't completely trust me." She shrugged. "How can you love someone who won't even tell you his real name? Who refuses to even admit that he has another name? I think, maybe I could, but…" Linda bit her lip again to keep from talking. As Chloe's friend, she really wanted to tell her the truth. As Lucifer's therapist, and friend, she would not. Best to change the subject.

"Back to the monologue on the beach. You, the audience in this scene, inferred 'I love you'…. What specifically did he say?"

 _I'm not worth it._ The rest of his speech led up to that one defining statement. It was so unlike Lucifer; self deprecation was definitely not his style. But it had seemed at the time that he actually meant it. And that one line had finally broken her resolve. But that was also the one line she would not share with anyone. "I don't want to talk about this. He didn't say he loved me. I just got caught up in the moment, and had a lapse in judgement."

"What about that other statement, what was it…. 'This is real'. _What_ is real? What did you infer from that?"

"I thought he was saying we were together. Dating or something. And maybe, yeah, I thought maybe…. But he didn't. And we're not." Chloe's arms were wrapped around her waist, Linda noted with some satisfaction. Self-soothing again accompanied by being inarticulate. They were on the right track.

"This is Lucifer we're talking about. The man admits to three emotions: happy, horny and angry. Love doesn't exactly fit into any of those categories; do you honestly think he'd be able to come right out and say 'I love you!'?"

"He's a grown man; I would certainly hope so!" Chloe was starting to get angry.

"Grown man?" Linda scoffed. "You said he kissed you like you were teenagers. And he hugs you like you're…. How did you describe it?"

"Smelly mothball person."

"Yes, that's right, smelly old mothball person. And you've said that he's ignoring you. To me, these don't scream grown man capable of clearly expressing his deeper emotions. What did he say?"

"Nothing! He talked about Trixie, and my middle name." Chloe stared at the floor, rocking slightly. Her hair slid over her ears partially obscuring her face.

"No. How did he put it? 'I tend to appeal to the dark, mischievous hearts in all of you.' But you, Chloe Decker, never felt that lure. You were not drawn to the Dark Side. What did he say?"

"Nothing! He just said he was going to stop trying to seduce me. That's all."

"The Old Testament tells us that Lucifer was God's favorite son, the most beautiful, the most intelligent of all His angels. But he became arrogant, and in his arrogance, he waged war against God."

"I don't need a Bible lesson." Chloe interjected.

"He lost," continued the doctor over the interruption, "And as part of his fall from grace, was thrown into the fires of Hell. Sentenced to punish the guilty for all eternity. What. Did. He. Say."

Startled into a sudden realization, Chloe stilled, looked up at Linda. The good doctor was right. Lucifer presented himself as an angel cast out of heaven. Vilified in story after story as evil incarnate. The truth of who he really was was almost irrelevant; _this_ was how he perceived the world and his place in it. And that evening on the beach, he _had_ told her, in words only truly understood once she acknowledged the fallen angel persona, that he loved her. And that he really, honestly, felt that he didn't deserve to be loved in return. _You deserve someone worthy of that grace_.

"I need to leave. Now."


End file.
